Remember What I Taught You
by Swanseajill
Summary: A question has been circling Sam’s mind since Dean’s deal came due: "What am I going to do now?" It’s only at this moment, as he sits beside his brother’s grave, that he realizes he already knows the answer. Dean gave it to him, in his final words.


**Title:** Remember What I Taught You  
**Author:** Swanseajill  
**Characters:** Sam, Dean  
**Pairing**: None  
**Spoilers:** 'No Rest for the Wicked' (Set five days post ep)  
**Disclaimer:** Don't own them, making no money from them.  
**Summary:** A question has been circling Sam's mind since Dean's deal came violently due. _What am I going to do now?_ It's only at this moment, as he sits beside his brother's grave, that he realizes he already knows the answer. Dean gave it to him, in his final words.  
**Author's Notes:** Grateful thanks as always to stealthyone for her fantastic beta job and for her continued encouragement.

**  
Remember What I Taught You**

Sam kneels on the hard ground, blinded by tears welling in his eyes, absently fingering the gold amulet clutched tightly in his hand.

His brother's body lies buried beneath the large mound of earth at his feet.

Dean's dead. Sam's stubborn, annoying, courageous and irreplaceable big brother is dead. Worse than dead. His soul's in hell, and that's so wrong because of all people, Dean doesn't deserve it.

Heroes aren't supposed to go to hell.

Sam swipes a hand across his eyes and looks down at the amulet. The horned face stares back. Dean had worn that amulet faithfully every day of his life since Sam gave it to him on that long-ago Christmas morning. Bobby said it was for protection, Sam muses bitterly, but he knows that isn't why Dean wore it. He wore it because it was a gift from Sam.

Sam swipes at his face again, sniffs loudly, then settles more comfortably on the ground. "Hey, Dean," he says hesitantly. He pauses, clears his throat. "I know what you'd say right now. You'd tell me I'm being a girl, that it's a sentimental waste of time to sit and talk at someone's graveside, but bear with me, okay? There's some stuff I need to get straight in my head and I just… I need to talk to you about it."

A question has been circling his mind since Dean's deal came violently due in an ordinary, suburban house. _What am I going to do now?_

It's only at this moment, as he sits beside his brother's grave, that he realizes that he already knows the answer. Dean gave it to him, in his final words.

"Dean, remember what you said to me, just before… remember the last thing you said to me?"

"_Keep fighting."_

Keep fighting. Dean was a fighter. Never did know when to give up. Didn't know how.

"I'm trying, Dean." Sam manages a small smile, more of a grimace really. "Forget that. I guess I'm _ready_ to start trying. That's the best I can do right now. Yeah, I know the war hasn't gone away. Lilith's still out there somewhere, and she has to be stopped." He hesitates. "It's just… it's hard, Dean. Without you… it's so damned hard."

Sam wishes like hell he could bring Dean back, have Dean at his side again, but he can't. It's too risky, and Dean would never forgive him if he died or went darkside during the process.

He pauses, allows his eyes to wander around the bleak, barren landscape, hearing Dean's answer in his head. "Yeah, I know. I need to pull myself together. I know we talked about this a thousand times, and you kept telling me I'd be fine – but I'm not fine, Dean. I'll never be fine. But… I _will_ keep fighting, okay? That's a promise."

And he will, because that's what his brother wants from him. No way is he going to let Dean down.

Not this time.

Not ever again.

"_Take care of my wheels."_

The Impala stands twenty yards away, sleek and black, spotless body gleaming in the sun.

"Your baby's fine," he said, and his lips twitched. It was weird, using that word, but somehow it seemed right. I cleaned and waxed her this morning. And no, I didn't take her through a car wash. I did it myself, polished her up with a leather cloth and everything. She's looking good. I checked her tires and oil too, and yes, I know I have to do that once a week." He shrugged apologetically. "Not too sure I can handle much more than that, though. I know you taught me stuff, but hey, you always said I was mechanically inept. I'm afraid of screwing up, so maybe I'll let Bobby look after the engine. Just in case."

His eyes smart as he glances along the length of the car, feeling a lump rising in his throat. During the past few days he's developed a love-hate relationship with Dean's baby. He loves her because sitting at the wheel, he feels closer to his brother than at any other time. He can easily conjure an image of Dean sitting beside him, singing off key, ribbing him about his driving, complaining about his choice of music. When he closes his eyes and plays Metallica at full volume, he can almost convince himself that this has all been a bad dream, that Dean really is sitting beside him.

Almost.

Yet she's also a constant reminder of his loss, and for this he can't help hating her, just a little.

Still, he'll never let her go. She was too important to Dean.

"I'll take care of her, Dean. I promise."

Reluctantly, his mind turns to Dean's third instruction.

"_Sam, remember what Dad taught you."_

The familiar bitterness washes over him as he recalls those words. Oh, he knows what Dean meant. Remember your training; remember all the hunting skills Dad taught you. Remember Dad's determination, his heroism and his commitment to hunting evil down.

Sam has a different take on his father's legacy. Sure, he's learned to hunt, and to kill. He's also learned how to hate, how to be self-obsessed, how to follow a selfish path of revenge that sweeps all other considerations out of the way.

He huffs a breath, knowing that he and Dean never agreed on this. "If you were here right now, you'd be defending him, insisting he was a hero who just wanted to protect his family. _Killing things, saving people, the family business. _But Dean, that's just not true. That wasn't really who he was, and you could never accept that. Sure, he saved people along the way, but that wasn't his ultimate goal. Dad was in the hunting business for just one reason: revenge for Mom's death. All the evil he hunted, all the skills he built up over the years – it was all about finding the yellow-eyed demon."

And for that, Sam will never forgive his father. Dad's obsession with the yellow-eyed demon, his single-minded pursuit, almost destroyed his sons. Hell, Dean would be alive now if Dad had just tried to live a normal life all those years. There wouldn't have been any crossroads deal.

Yet Sam knows that Dad wasn't all bad. He loved his sons, and he tried, in his own way, to make the best life he could for them. And he gave his life for Dean. Sam loved him, despite everything.

But they say that the line between love and hate is a thin one, and Sam's walked that line a thousand times – and is still walking it, even now Dad's gone.

"But you know what's really ironic?" Sam goes on, idly running the amulet's cord through his fingers. "I've spent my whole life rebelling against Dad, but the truth is I'm my father's son, through and through." He barks a bitter laugh. "I didn't want to see it, but it's true. I never wanted to be a hunter; you know that. I wanted to live my own life. And when Jess died, I still didn't want to be a hunter. But I did want revenge." He pauses, cocks an eyebrow. "Sound familiar? And when the Trickster… shit, Dean, I never told you what really happened on that Wednesday, did I?"

He shifts position, stretching leg muscles that are beginning to cramp. "I guess I can tell you now. You died again that Wednesday morning, Dean, and this time the day didn't reset. It was six months before I got you back." He pauses, and almost laughs as he imagines the angry expletives Dean would be uttering right about now. "Yeah, I know, I should have told you. I should have told you a lot of things. But I didn't because I knew you'd be disappointed in me, and it'd freak you out, because Dean…" He swallows. He finds it difficult to think about that time. "I… I really lost it. I became this ruthless killing machine. I set out to make every monster and demon pay for losing you. And the things I found I was capable of?" His hand tightens on the amulet. "It scared the crap out of me, man."

As he thinks about those bleak weeks and months, he feels the anger build inside him, a coiled serpent in the pit of his stomach, poised and ready to strike. That anger, that darkness, is urging him back onto the same road. He knows he has it in him to be that ruthless killer again. Part of him wants to leave right now to find Lilith and her minions and rip their throats out.

He lets his head drop and puts a hand to his temples, feeling the throb of building tension.

"_Remember what I taught you."_

He repeats those words inwardly and lets out a couple of long breaths, waits until his heart rate slows and raises his head shakily. "I know I could go down that road again," he continues slowly. "But I won't. I don't think you even know it, but you taught me a different way. I told you once that to carry on the fight alone, I'd have to become more like you. And I thought I knew what I meant. I had to toughen up, learn to make the hard decisions, be ruthless when I had to. And don't get me wrong, I was right about that.

"But that was only half of it, and I get that now." He smiles tightly.

"You never understood this, but there's a big difference between you and Dad. See, Dean, you really were a hero. All you ever wanted was to save people and protect your family. And that's what heroes do, right?"

He clears his throat, and his voice shakes with emotion. "You gave up everything for me and Dad and for all the people whose lives you saved. You were my hero when I was a kid, Dean, and you still are."

He's silent for long moments, thinking of all the things he should have said to his brother but never did and now never will. Hopes that Dean understood how he felt and how much he admired his big brother.

He chews on his lip for a moment, uncertain about making his final confession, but somehow he knows it's important to say it aloud.

"Listen, there's something else. I think… I think maybe there's something wrong with me. I don't know if it's the demon blood, but… when Lilith was trying to kill me after you… when you… Well, I stopped her. With my mind. I don't know how I did it, but I can feel this power inside, and I know it's evil, Dean. I can sense it."

He straightens, raises his head higher, voice strong with conviction. "But you don't have to worry, because I know I can fight it. You promised you'd save me, Dean, and you have. You will. Because every time I feel the darkness calling me, I'll hear your voice calling me back. You'll save me. I know you will."

He'd thought he had a choice to make. But he was wrong. There is no choice. There's only good and evil, right and wrong. He'll choose good. He'll hunt down those demon sons of bitches and save any innocent who strays into their path. And he'll keep fighting until the end.

It's the best way he can think of to honor his brother's memory.

He gets back up onto his knees and reaches over the grave, moving aside a few of the stones serving as a marker. "So, I guess this is it, Dean. I'll keep fighting, I'll take care of your wheels, and I'll try to remember the good things Dad taught me. But most of all, I'll always remember what _you_ taught me."

Sam places the amulet carefully in the hollow he's created, covers it over with stones and runs his hand over the soft earth around it. Then he gets to his feet and strides to the Impala.

Bobby stands beside her, cap in hand, silent but not attempting to hide his own grief.

"Let's go, Bobby," Sam says firmly. "We've got work to do."

**End**


End file.
